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Thursday, January 10, 2013

So nobody got in to the Hall of Fame yesterday. Deacon White, umpire Hank O'Day and owner Jacob Ruppert will go in as Veterans Committee choices, but they are all long dead. The Bonds/Clemens/McGwire/Sosa/Palmeiro/etc group is entirely shut out. The media, inclined to have someone to celebrate and really rather hoping someone gets in every year, has gone apoplectic, calling it a black day for baseball that nobody was elected, howling that the statistics trump all, calling the Hall of Fame devalued for their absence, and calling for the balloting rules to be changed to start inducting people again.

If you ask the actual Hall of Famers, though, they couldn't be happier about the development. They, for the most part, don't want Bonds and Clemens to ever get in. Ever. Get out and stay out. In their minds, what they did would be devalued by their election. It would be final, irreversible proof that you can, with enough skill, cheat and it won't matter because you'll still be given the game's highest honor. You'll never be able to look kids in the eye and tell them not to roid up with a straight face again, because they'll just tell you that Bonds roided up and he's in Cooperstown. Had he gone in this year, they'd tell you Bonds roided up and he was a first-ballot Hall of Famer. What are you going to be able to say back to him?

So put it on their plaque, then, and tell the kids about their history, say those wishing to induct them. Seriously, tell me honestly: can you actually recite the words on the plaque of a single Hall of Famer? Can you tell me, without looking, what any of their plaques say? No. People know the names, people know the caps they're wearing on the plaques, and that's it. They have a plaque. They cheated and have been given the game's highest honor as a result of what they did while cheating. The end.

Sure. We knew in the 90's that some of these guys were juicing. We knew. We didn't want to admit it. We were weak back then. We were just coming off the strike. We just wanted baseball back and got seduced by big men hitting cartoonish home runs. We knew. We enabled. But that does not mean we must now compound our mistake. It doesn't mean you can't teach the history of baseball to your kids. Far from it. The kids are smart enough to know the names of non-Hall of Famers. You are free to tell them who's not there, and why they are not there.

Besides, this is not the first time controversial candidates have gone on the ballot prior to long, long stays outside the doors. Pete Rose, though he was banned in 1989, saw his votes counted in the 1992, 1993 and 1994 ballots. His high-water mark: 9.5% in 1992. The all-time hit king could not even crack double digits with the writers. Not only that, he only got three attempts at the ballot at all because the 5% rule hadn't been fully implemented yet. He got 3.3% in 1993, and 4.2% in 1994. Ban or no ban, the writers had made their choice, and made it emphatically.

As for Shoeless Joe Jackson, he saw two appearances on the ballot, in the original 1936 ballot and a 'nomination vote' in 1946, in a year the writers needed to do a runoff vote. Jackson is one of eight people on the 50-man baseball writers ballot to still not be in. He got two votes- but then, so did Edd Roush and Chief Bender and they both got in eventually. So did two of the three who didn't get any votes, Charlie Gehringer and Gabby Hartnett. (Deacon White made his only appearance that year on the Old-Timers Committee ballot, getting only one vote.) Jackson also got two votes, good for 1.0%, in 1946, in a 7-way tie for 43rd place on the ballot. The top 21 advanced to the runoff, which didn't elect anybody that year. (All were eventually inducted, and six of them got in that year anyway thanks to the Old-Timers Committee.)

This is not unprecedented. This is not the first time the baseball writers have carried out their wrath. And even if they do eventually get in- and that is not a when, that is an IF- the writers have a way of enforcing that character clause. Juan Marichal had to wait after his attack on Johnny Roseboro, until Roseboro himself came out and lent his support to Marichal's candidacy. Roberto Alomar was made to wait a year after he spit on umpire John Hirschbeck. The game is bigger than any one player. You can't act with impunity and expect a plaque with no repercussions just because you racked up big numbers. If it was all about numbers, a computer program could make the inductions. It's not. The character clause matters.

'But Ty Cobb got in and look how awful a person he was!' That was 1936. Ty Cobb was not the only person who thought like Ty Cobb in 1936. Three years later, Cap Anson got inducted and he was the guy who CONSTRUCTED the color barrier- which at that point had yet to come down. Are we really going to hold ourselves to the moral and societal standards of the 1930's?

With that, I present this year's edition of the Hall of Very Good- the high-water marks of players not yet in. I've taken the liberty this year of extending the list from a threshold of 2.0% down to 1.0%. (It's not going any further down, because you can see just how many people got added by adding that one single percent.) Candidates still on the ballot are bolded. Tim Raines, Jack Morris and Jeff Bagwell hit personal bests among returning candidates.